Fortune's Fool
by Ribhinn Maraiche
Summary: Our favorite hero's plight is tragic, betrayed by all he once held dear. When his betrayers realize their terrible mistake, what will it take to win Harry's forgiveness, and to rescue the Wizarding World... if, indeed, it deserves to be saved? UPDATED!
1. Prologue

_"Romeo, away, be gone!  
_

_The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. _

_Stand not amazed. _

_The Prince will doom thee death _

_If thou art taken. _

_Hence, be gone, away!" _

_"Oh, I am fortune's fool!" _

_"Why dost thou stay?" _

I don't own Harry Potter.

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**Fortune's Fool**

**Shpadana Zizais**

_These are dark times,_

_Horrible times,_

_Stand in the rain and_

_Let it wash away my pain._

_You broke my heart,_

_But I'm walking away,_

_You tore me apart,_

_But they say tomorrow's a new day._

_I'm not mad that you sold me out,_

_Even though it's so fucked up,_

_I guess that's what it's all about,_

_I guess you'd call it_

_Growing up._

_ "Growing Up", by me_.

* * *

**June 17, 1998**

The man in prison cell #3549687 sits unmoving against the frigid granite wall. Prison cell #3549687 is not special in itself – quite the opposite, in fact. It's gray walls are every bit as constricting as #3549688, and it's piss-hole, quite as foul-smelling. It is not the cell but rather the man in it who makes it extraordinary.

The grime of the ages smears his face, full of blood and vomit and other equally unmentionable things. His clothes, once respectable, like their owner, are torn to shreds, forced into a color so opposite their previous scarlet existence. A battered crest sits in a corner, cast there by an uncaring, insensible hand long before. It bears the shape of a lion in dusty red and gold.

A hand twitches, the only motion of his inert form. The nails are ragged and bitten to the quick, bloodied as the man scraped his clawed fingers over the stone like a madman, counting the days of his imprisonment. The tallies have long since ceased, the blood long since clotted and dried.

Cold, glass-green eyes stare widely at the cranny opposite him, competing with the hard rock for deadness, yet he balances at the peak of an enormous wave, waiting for the water to curl and crash down on itself, for insanity to swallow him up, consume him. His yearning for such oblivion is palpable in 3549687. What was once a buried hope has reared its ugly head and surged to the front of his – well, it could hardly be called consciousness.

His mind has turned itself inside out, and he no longer lives, but relives. The cold swell of fear and nausea, in which he seems to always be immersed, fluctuates constantly, determining his level of awareness. At this particular point in time, the man who is to be our hero has sunk to the very bottom of his soul. He who deliberates his vengeance has swum to the surface of his being, as the chilly surge of the Dementors, Dark creatures harnessed by what we know as the Light, intensifies.

There. His eyes flicker. His head swivels to face the doorway as the heavy bolts are lifted. A morsel of hope sparks, but as it has every day since he has been incarcerated, it dies when a bowl of slop is pushed through the open hatch. For the first time his mark is revealed, that hateful, damning blight on the short times of happiness he was able to snatch during his equally short childhood. The sign of his misery and the heartbreakingly tragic betrayal that he endured. A bolt of lightening, red in his pale, pale countenance, mars what could have been a handsome, laughing face.

Now it is twisted into a painful, glaring skull that grins and laughs with hysteric abandon.

Is he mad? Most certainly.

He is fortune's fool.

He is Harry Potter.

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**Review.**


	2. Rescue

_"Happiness is not the result of being carefree; rather, it is having cares and living beyond them."_

- Shpadana Zizais (me), in conversation.

I don't own Harry Potter.

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**Fortune's Fool**

**Shpadana Zizais**

_"Lily, take Harry and go! I'll hold him off!_

"_Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

"_Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now…"_

"_Not Harry, please no, take me instead –"_

_"Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy…"_

The woman's screaming woke Harry Potter from his restless sleep. The words were so familiar now that he didn't need a Dementor to remind him of them – they ran through his head even when the creatures' effects receded, giving him a brief, yet futile respite. But now was not one of those times.

One of the wraiths paused outside Harry's door – after so much time in their presence, he could feel their approach as one feels the coming of a storm – and as it inhaled, seeking the happy memories of a broken man, memories that no longer existed, Harry felt a little more of his essence leaving him.

People who lived in this place for too long eventually went beyond needing a Kiss, as more of their souls were taken by the beings. They became shells, like those to whom the Kiss was administered. Others, the weaker ones, could not survive the constant drain on their life force and died. Harry wished he were weak, wished and longed for the sweet, black oblivion that was death's gift.

A flash of warmth and light accompanied a second Dementor as it approached. Harry's face turned involuntarily, soaking up the feeling as a plant drinks in the rays of the sun.

But Harry's atrophied muscles shook with the small action of holding up his head, and his chin dropped down to rest against his chest once more, eyes blankly staring.

The bolts lifted once more. The young man didn't move. He had long since given up hope of rescue. Yet here was the very man who had hurt him most, the man who had sentenced him to his fate. A mirthless laugh bubbled in his chest, the laugh he hated so very much.

Albus Dumbledore strode down the hall of fetid, decomposing Azkaban, his mind in turmoil. His former charge, the Boy-Who-Lived, the child he had come to love as his own, the one he had doubted and thought had betrayed him, had in turn been betrayed.

Oh, what had he done? What madness had possessed the aged headmaster to turn his back on the poor boy? But as the whole of the Wizarding World had trusted him in the war against Grindelwald, as they had trusted him in the First Dark War, so they had trusted him then, when his decision had been the hardest to make, when his judgment had turned so wrong.

His guide, the leader of the Dementors of Azkaban, led him through the wards of the high-security section, finally stopping at the end of that long, long hall. The locks and bolts on the door he faced were so complicated and so heavily magicked that it took the Dementors several minutes to unlock them all.

Strong as he was, even Dumbledore was beginning to sag beneath the weight of the power of the Dementors. Behind him, Bill Weasley and his fiancé, Nymphadora Tonks, were holding up admirably well, but their faces were starting to show the strain. How could Harry have survived with this constant barrage, especially considering his history with the creatures, and his infamous reaction to them?

Albus dismissed the Dementors, who reluctantly left. The threesome watched them glide back down the hall and breathed a sigh of relief when they had gone.

The door creaked open, allowing a terrible stench to emerge, a foul odor of vomit, feces, death… so many horrible things. The Headmaster steeled himself, and behind him, Bill and Tonks' shoulders were visibly set. Yet the sight that met their eyes tugged hard at their heartstrings.

The young man sat crumpled into himself, looking very much like he had already passed from this world to the next. Tonks moaned in grief. She had watched over this boy for several years, off and on, even before he went to Hogwarts. She had grown fond of him; proud of his strength of character in the face of all the challenges and hurts he had had to deal with, although he had never known it at the time.

Then she had met him in his fourth year (although he hadn't known her face at the time), and the fondness increased. In fact, she had become rather attached to him. He had been a good kid.

A hoarse croak came from the diminished figure. It took the trio a moment to recognize it as a laugh, but instead of reassuring them it made them even lower in spirits. Dora's hand found Bill's, and he squeezed it comfortingly. How could someone who laughed like that be even nominally sane?

Dumbledore's face was creased in a frown, contorted with deep regret.

"Harry?" He asked quietly, tentatively. The man raised his head, straggles of filthy black hair falling over his face. His eyes, those cold, green orbs, caught those of the headmaster, and all three visitors shivered.

"Harry Potter is dead," the voice came deep and hollow and empty, yet cuttingly sharp. "I am only the shell of the boy you once knew. Nothing more."

"Harry," the old man said, ignoring his words, "We have come to save you. To take you home. We've made a grievous mistake, and we all wish to make it up to you. _Please_, Harry." Dumbledore's voice broke, but Harry only flinched. He'd never heard the most powerful wizard in the world beg for anything, but he was pleading now.

He looked away from his betrayers. "Fuck off. I never meant anything to you, old man, but a way to destroy your nemesis. And you, obviously blood is thicker than water to you Weasley bastards." His eyes flickered to Bill as he said this.

"Now, see here," Bill began, but was silenced by Albus.

"Harry, let's get you out of here first. We have much to talk about."

Bill and Tonks moved forward hesitantly to grab his elbows and heft him up into a standing position. He swayed dangerously as they slung his arms over their shoulders and shuffled forward. As they passed Dumbledore, Harry glared at him venomously and hissed,

"We have _nothing_ to talk about, old man. _Nothing._"

The Headmaster's face crumpled, his shoulders drooping dejectedly as he fell into step behind them.

When they shoved open the heavy iron door of Azkaban, Harry nearly screamed. After several years in the darkness of his cell, the bright sunlight caused excruciating pain to his eyes.

It took the three of them rather a long time to understand what was the cause of his agony, but when they did, Dumbledore exclaimed, "Oh, how thoughtless of us, Harry," and conjured a blindfold to cover his eyes.

_Indeed,_ Harry thought.

However, once his eyes were protected, he was aware of so many other things as they rowed across the calm sea. The sun on his face, the breeze, the fresh air. He would never admit it, but when he touched his fingers to the blindfold, the cloth was wet with tears of joy.

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I previously had a request for able betas here, but since wiccan-jessica has agreed to be my beta, it won't be necessary anymore. However, if for some reason she can't continue being my beta, feel free to sign up if you'd be willing to beta for me in the future. My thanks. 

Thank you Quillian and Crysania Fay, the first to review this story. Your thoughts are always welcome.

* * *

**Review.**


	3. First Encounters

"**When you think of the long and gloomy history of man, you will find more hideous crimes have been committed in the name of obedience than have ever been committed in the name of rebellion."** – C. P. Snow

I don't own Harry Potter… although I'd like to. Yum…

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**Fortune's Fool**

**Shpadana Zizais**

The small boat touched the shore, grinding harshly against the rocky bottom. Bill and Tonks helped Harry out of the small boat. Almost immediately his long-idle legs gave out from beneath him, and with a soft cry he fell blissfully to the ground. Bill reached out to help him up again, but Dora held his hand back.

For the first time in such a while, Harry felt grass beneath his fingertips. The delicate blades glided gently across his palms, and he finally understood the strange compulsion one has to kiss the ground when one is washed ashore after a shipwrecking.

Harry fingered the grass beneath his hands, but could not bring himself to pick even one. The symbolism was simply too like that of snuffing out a new life, life that once again had meaning for the young man, who had thought he'd never know the touch of sun, or rain, or fresh air again.

Watching with remorseful fascination, the others made no sound as Harry rediscovered the world he once knew, one glorious aspect at a time; not even the soft _whoosh_ of breath could be heard.

But being alone was one thing Harry could not yet face. Panic laced his voice as he called out.

"Bill? Dora? Where are you?" He pushed himself to his feet, not even realizing that in his desperation, he had used their names for the first time that day. Bill caught Harry's elbow, steadying him with a touch of comfort. He met Dora's glance over the boy's head.

Reassured of their presence, Harry recalled himself and roughly jerked his arm out of Bill's gentle grasp.

"Where to now, old man?" he addressed the air with a contemptuous sneer.

"We have to apparate, Harry. I'll double-"

"No," Harry snapped. "Weasley can take me." And so Bill touched his shoulder, summoning his magic to transport them.

After the unpleasant experience of being squeezed through a long tube, Harry felt his feet slam into the ground. For the exhausted, feeble teenager, the shock of dual-Apparation was too much. The soft black fog swiftly crept over him, and he never felt Bill's arms catching him as he fell down, down, to the lowest depths of oblivion.

* * *

There was a note for Ronald Weasley when he returned to his dorm, sopping wet and making puddles on the floor after a particularly soggy Quidditch practice. The crisp white parchment was propped against his pillow. 

Ron was only a syllable away from incinerating it before he noticed the loopy handwriting, quite different than the even, precise hand of his _almost_-girlfriend, Hermione Granger.

The 17-year-old took a few moments to stew over their latest argument. He wanted to announce their… erm… _almost_-relationship to everyone – it was useless to sneak around, stealing quick snogs at late-night rendezvous' when everyone had made it clear they had been expecting it since third year.

"_But Ron, what would the _teachers_ think? I'm _Head Girl_! I can't just go around _kissing_ you in the halls! I have to set an _example_!"_

"_Aw, get off it, 'Mione. No one's gonna care, it's worse if we're snogging in closets and missing class-"_

"_Ron! That was only_ once_!"_

"_-and what are you gonna do when you're married? Hide in the bathrooms?"_

That had really stuck in her craw. Ron had thought she might explode. She did turn a rather extraordinary shade of red. And being a redhead himself… well, _he_ was impressed.

_"Why, you- you-"_

"_Oh, bugger it." _Ron had said, and covered her lips with his. He'd always found it easier to jump right to the inevitable making up. Why waste so much time yelling when they could be getting in a good snog in the meantime?

Except then she'd gotten – if possible – even redder.

_"RONALD WEASLEY! If you think for one minute that this'll solve anything, well… well then you've got another thing coming!"_

And she'd huffed and marched right up the dormitory stairs.

So now Ron was here, fuming. He was not moping. Not at all. Not even a little bit. Of course, if he really believed that, he'd be lying to himself. But he wasn't moping. Really.

Remembering, Ron picked up the parchment. Opening it, he read quickly before dropping the note and hurriedly charging out of the room.

Lying forgotten behind him, the note began smouldering around the edges. Silvery letters flared before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

_Mr. Weasley,_

_Come to my office. You must get home immediately._

_Albus Dumbledore_

And at the bottom of the note, the very last thing to disappear, was etched a single golden phoenix feather.

* * *

"Hello?" Ron called out, dusting off his robes. "Mum? George?" Arthur Weasley, he remembered, was working at the Ministry today. Something about a very dangerous strangling pillowcase. 

"Fred?" The twins were supposed to be home, as it was a Sunday, and as Molly always said, Sundays were a time for family. When the children weren't at school, they all had dinner together every week.

The house was silent. Since the incident with the Filibuster firework in the chimney, the Floo entrance had since been moved to the second floor as a temporary placement, until they got around to fixing the damage. As it was a very in-between sort of place to have the fireplace, it was quite easy to hear any noise throughout the house from that spot.

Hearing nothing, Ron shrugged and headed up towards his room.

* * *

Harry saw red. At least, it was red when he squinted. But as he opened his eyes further, a torrent of orange seemed to jump out at him. 

He must be in Ron's room. But what was he doing here? He should have been at Hogwarts. What day was it? Harry thought, wrinkling his brow. He remembered finals. The Triwizard Tournament… the Third Task. The-

The sound of smashing glass made Harry whip his head up. An older, carrot-topped boy stood in the doorway. Percy? No, he thought, it couldn't be. Perhaps George. Without his glasses, the boy's face was too fuzzy to make out his identity. Twinkling shards of glass lay at his feet, testimony to the source of the sound. But it was his expression that caught Harry's attention through the fog.

A mixture of shock, horror, revulsion, and potent fury warred on the boy's face.

"_You!" _he snarled. "_You MURDERER! What are you doing here!"_

Memories pounded through Harry's head.

The Third Task.

_Cedric Diggory._

_The Triwizard Cup._

_Voldemort._

_Wormtail._

_The arc of light. His parents._

_Draco. Uncontrollable hatred._

_Ginny. Not Ginny. NO._

_All-consuming despair._

_Betrayal._

And suddenly, with a horrible clarity, Harry knew who his visitor was.

"_RON_." The word was filled with such anger and power that Ron felt himself shrinking back. The rage in his face was terrible to witness as Harry's eyes grew very, very cold.

"Y-you bastard, Harry. You bastard." His eyes dark with renewed pain, Ron tore out of the room and down the stairs, pausing against the balustrade to dash the tears from his eyes.

A soundless explosion rocked the house, throwing Ron off balance so that he had to grab at the banister to stay upright.

Molly, Dumbledore, Bill, Tonks, Charlie, Sirius, Remus, Arthur, and Hermione raced to the bottom of the steps, stopping abruptly when they saw Ron standing on the first landing, white-faced.

With a groan, Sirius started up the stairs, only to be stopped by Remus.

"Not you," he said. "Do you really think it's wise to go up there right now?"

"I'll go," Bill volunteered, only to be maneuvered aside when Tonks slipped past him. She turned to look at her fiancée, who was staring at her (along with the rest of them).

"Well, honestly. Of all of us, I think I've probably got the least against me in Harry's eyes. Its common sense, you see. Something you all obviously lack."

With nothing more to be said, Tonks continued up the rickety, winding staircase of the Burrow.

* * *

Dora approached the half-ajar door warily, carefully pushing it open. The hinges emitted a creak that made Dora wince. 

"Harry?" What she saw shocked her. In the bed was her quarry, looking slightly sooty. He sat with his forehead resting against his arm, which lay upon his drawn up knees. When he didn't move or give any indication at all that he had heard her, she looked around the room.

The sheer destruction made her swallow hard. The once-vibrant walls were now blackened. The only intact piece of furniture was the bed, and even that was a little seared. All that was left of the orange curtains were a few scorched scraps of cloth. Everything glass in the room had splintered. The many Chudley Cannons posters that Ron had lovingly hung on his walls were gone.

Tonks moved closer to the boy, holding her breath as she reached out.

"Harry?" His head snapped up to pierce her with a glass-green gaze as sharp as a tack. Dora, who had been about to touch his shoulder, snatched her hand away, sensing with a woman's intuition that to touch him now would mean death.

"O-ok, then, no physical contact. I can do that." She moved back, a good six feet away from him.

"I'm just going to sit here on the floor, Harry. Nothing more. I'm sorry that you had to see Ron – I mean, Weasley," she hurriedly corrected herself when he shot her a glance, "without any – um – advance warning, and… erm-"

"I don't care about the damn Weasleys." Harry's voice was emotionless, yet it told Dora more than he meant it to. He was scared, alone, and very, very angry. His control, touch-and-go to begin with, was quite sketchy now.

"I'm sorry you went through… all that you have, Harry. It was a horrible, unimaginable thing for anyone to endure. I couldn't have survived it. Worse than that, much worse, it was _wrong_." Harry looked at her quickly. A flicker of surprise crossed his face when he saw that she was in tears. Then he hardened his expression and went on staring straight ahead.

"I hope you'll forgive me, Harry. Someday. If it's in two days or two hundred years, I don't care. All that matters is your forgiveness, even though _I_ know that not one of us deserves it." He gave no response, and strangely, she hadn't expected one.

She got to her feet and went to the door, stepping around the destruction in her path. Before she pulled it shut behind her, she looked back at him.

"And Harry-" he looked at her, "If anyone demands your forgiveness, or thinks you should be grateful that we finally realized the truth… you tell them I said to give 'em the finger."

She left then, and as she did, she could have sworn she saw the glimmer of a smile in his emerald eyes.

* * *

Thanks to so many wonderful people who have taken the time to read my story out of the 212,205 Harry Potter fanfics out there as of 1:00 AM on Monday, October 17, 2005. 

Thank you to:

**Slytherin-rox-my-sox** – I hope never to disappoint you, I will always update, and Slytherin rocks my socks off, too. It is so good to hear when people put _my_ story on Story Alert. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

**Eowyn23 – **Why, thank you, I'm glad you liked it. I hope you stick with it.

**Karaii** – Well, I dunno about that. It's not too different from a lot of Harry/Azkaban stories, although I like to think that my writing style is a bit different from the norm (not to be conceited, or anything). I do so love Insane!Harry. He's so lovable.

**Hakkai-Gojyo-Goku-Sanzo – **Gesundheit. So many questions, so little time. Let it suffice to say that all will come to me… in time. In other words, I don't know yet, genius takes effort, effort takes time, time is one thing that none of us have enough of. That wasn't very simplified, but my brain is shutting down right about now.

**Athenakitty – **Oh, he sure does. Tonks' last comment was inspired by your review, I'll have you know. You gave me a wonderful place to end the chappie, meaning you and everyone else who is reading this gets the chapter out at a markedly earlier date. I don't know when it would have come out, but sometime before Halloween. Maybe.

And finally…

**Wiccan-jessica – **my new beta! Now kiddies, be extra sure you thank Jessica for being my beta, and providing you with a new and improved Shpadana. My heartfelt thanks.

* * *

**Review.**


	4. Things That Go Thump In The Night

HA! Betcha didn't think I was ever going to update again, did you? Me neither. To be completely honest with you all, I really don't know if I'm going to keep going with this story… but I had the sudden, strange impulse to write the second half of this chapter (which has been sitting quietly amidst my computer files for at least three years now) and so I did. So here it is:

* * *

"_Romeo, away, be gone!_

_The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain._

_Stand not amazed. The Prince will doom thee death_

_If thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away!"_

"_Oh, I am fortune's fool!"_

"_Why dost thou stay?"_

- _Romeo and Juliet_, by William Shakespeare

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter. Or Shakespeare.

* * *

**Fortune's Fool**

**Ribhinn Maraiche**

The Weasley house took quite a beating over the next week. While the wizarding world was oblivious of Harry's release from Azkaban, the Muggles of Ottery St. Catchpole were quite aware of his presence – frequent explosions aside, the shouting could be heard from a mile off. They were told the blasts were the result of a faulty gas line (something that caused some doubt from the more knowledgeable Muggles), but as for the raised voices – well, they were left to their imaginations.

Meanwhile, the inside of the house had become a war zone. The Weasleys and Hermione had been moved into the garage – for their own safety. Dumbledore made daily attempts to assuage Harry's anger, but Harry was certainly in no mood to be mollified. Dumbledore seemed to think that a straightforward approach would do the trick. After a week of failure, he acquiesced to Hermione's urging and tried sending an owl through the window.

With a puff of feathers, the carcass and the singed letter took a three-story tumble to the brick walkway of the garden. Hermione, upset by the sudden violence of the action, shouted through her tears at her former best friend until McGonagall had to lead her away, sobbing all the while.

* * *

Harry was very, very angry. Had he enough strength, and the knowledge to do it, he would have Apparated out of the house at the first opportunity. After he splinched himself trying (an extremely unpleasant experience), an anti-Apparition ward was erected around the house, making further attempts impossible.

_What right have they to cage me here, in _this_ house_, he raged. After all they had done, they endeavored to torture him further by closeting him with those who had hurt him most. No, a little voice in his head corrected him. These – these _creatures _weren't able to hurt him. They _couldn't _hurt him. He wouldn't let them. They had only angered him. And he was very angry indeed.

But inside he felt cold, empty. Inside, a small part of him cried out desperately for someone he could trust. Someone who hadn't hurt him. _They didn't hurt me_, the voice stubbornly protested. Someone who cared.

_Ginny._

But no, his fury reared back and plowed over this thought. He couldn't be sure that she wouldn't have hurt him eventually. _But we're _not _hurt_, came a plaintive thought. _We, who? _he thought, startled. Oh, well. He continued his mental rampage. Ginny was a good memory, one of the last left to him, and she would remain that way. He had killed her. Oh, he might not have meant to cast that final spell, but as surely as he was Harry Potter, savior and scourge of the wizarding world, he had been the cause of her death.

Although he wasn't exactly sure _who _he was these days. Harry Potter had receded into a memory as well, one that didn't merit a place next to Ginny.

Harry let out a sigh of frustration and threw himself heavily into a chair.

But this argument hadn't helped his case. Fudge had practically giggled with gleeful anticipation as Malfoy had poured out his damning testimony./ font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1107304683 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ , , {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-size:10.0pt; mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;} page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} 1 {page:Section1;} -- And Dumbledore – the floor gave a warning rumble, and he struggled to hold back the flash of power that inevitably followed thoughts of the _real_ scourge. He blinked, momentarily pleased. He'd only managed to crack the wood under his feet – nothing permanent.

These bursts of destructive energy scared him. They were erratic, except when he deliberately thought of Dumbl- of _that wizard_, or his one-time friends. As furious as he was with those who wronged him, he really _didn't_ want to hurt anyone innocent. While there weren't any of that sort at the Burrow – except maybe Tonks, the small, yearning part asserted – he would eventually be among Muggles, all of whom _were _innocent of this particular crime.

But holding onto the raw power was difficult. Once the surge had quit itself, Harry slumped in the chair and pulled off his glasses, resting his forehead in his cool palm.

"Well, well, Potter the Snot. Feeling sorry for yourself as usual, I presume?"

"You certainly do, Severus." Harry said without looking up, his thoughts coming together. "No, I'm not pitying myself, for once. Not in the way you think." Silence followed his words. A quick glance revealed Snape's surprise at the amity in his tone.

Now Harry's voice held a trace of amusement. "What, you think I'm going to hold it against you that you didn't speak up in my defense? We weren't friends. You didn't betray me. On the contrary – you're probably the only person I can trust to be completely and brutally honest with me; you never tried to disguise your feelings toward me. Call it a mutual dislike, but we understand each other quite well now, I think."

Snape sneered. "Oh do we, Potter?"

Harry leveled a long, measuring gaze on the Potions professor's face. When he finally spoke, an eerie note laced his words.

"I've been in his mind, Severus. I know his thoughts. I know everything he's done in the last two years. _Everything._" Snape shuddered and paled even further than normal.

"You saw-" He croaked. Harry nodded.

"Worse. I _was_ there. He knew I was there. He cast-" Harry lost his careful composure for a moment. What he said then was Snape's worst nightmare.

"He used me to _test_ curses, Severus – he cast _Flagella_ on me. And the _Inimicus Serra_, and _Ruadjini_, an ancient, almost prehistoric hex from the area that is now Iran. Because I wasn't there… physically, my body wasn't harmed, but he raped my mind. It's a good thing I never learned the prophecy – yes, I know about it now, don't look so surprised. Did you think I wouldn't glean a little knowledge from his thoughts? Otherwise he'd know, and I'd be dead and the wizarding world would have lost its precious only hope," he finished bitterly.

"Merlin," Severus moaned, feeling an unexpected sympathy for the boy he'd learned to hate. "What did we do? There's no way you're entirely sane now, after all of that… and having to live it all over again… over and over… Merlin, Harry, what did we do to you?"

"Don't you pity me," Harry snapped. "You, most of all. I've had quite enough of being pitied. First for losing my parents, and then for my encounters with Voldemort – the Stone, the Chamber, Pettigrew, the Tournament, and now Azkaban… I've been pitied by _that wizard_, and the Weasley bastards, and Granger, and Tonks, and the rest of the wizarding world… even Voldemort pitied me for a moment, there – _I don't need your pity! _Not _you_, of all people!"

Severus suddenly realized how very close to losing everything Harry was. And then, quite clearly, he realized that somehow he, _he_, had become Harry's lifeline. For all that he still disliked this Potter whelp, he had to find a way to help him, or all would be lost.

* * *

Tonks was only inches from calling off her engagement and cursing them all into oblivion.

"What right do you have to keep something like this from him?" She shouted.

Severus inwardly winced and cast _Muffliato_ so that Harry couldn't hear. To be honest, he had some doubts himself about the wisdom of this plan, but he knew for sure that they wouldn't listen to _him_. Most of them still didn't trust him, despite learning of his role as a spy… or perhaps because of it.

Dumbledore exchanged glances with a teary-eyed Molly Weasley, who was, of course, in cahoots with the old man. Wracked with guilt, she couldn't bear the thought of causing Harry undue torment… and that was, she was sure, exactly what this news would do.

"Nymphadora," Albus tried to placate her, "Can you imagine how Harry would feel? He already hates us, and of course he has good reason. But that part of his life is over, and I rather think he would not thank us for bringing it up again."

"Yes, as if assuming you know how he thinks wasn't what got us into this mess in the first place," Tonks said nastily, her spiked hair flaring violently from a dark, stormy blue-gray to furious red and back again.

Molly gasped. Dumbledore's face turned very white and crackling energy fizzed about his long beard before he controlled himself. It had been a very long time since anyone had been able to rattle him so. Bill gaped soundlessly at his fiancé.

"Perhaps," Albus tried to lend his voice a reasonable air, with some effort. "If you would only consider, Nymphadora­-"

"_Don't call me that_," she hissed. "You're wrong, all of you, if you think keeping this particular secret is going to help anything." Her voice dropped to a sorrowful whisper. "Telling him may be the only way to save us all."

* * *

Of all the terrible memories that had plagued Harry over the past two years, it was his alleged crime which hurt the most. Now, shut in Weasley's abominable bedroom, that was the memory which struck at him again and again.

The Triwizard Tournament had taken a dark and horrible turn, that night. Harry vividly recalled the unexpected tug at his navel as the Portkey was activated. Cedric's elbow had struck his eyeglasses and knocked them askew as they were transported, so when they arrived with a thump he had taken a moment to right them.

When he was able to see clearly, he had looked around at the cemetery and felt a strange sense of recognition. Surely he had seen this place before.

He remembered the sickening knowledge that came to him, the realization that they stood in front of the grave of Tom Riddle's father, and worse, that Voldemort had drawn him there as surely as if he wore a collar and Voldemort held the leash.

A flash of light was all the warning they had, and for Cedric, it had been the last moment of his life. Pettigrew had held Harry captive while he performed the ancient dark ritual to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to his corporeal form.

The Dark Lord had called his Death Eaters to him, and they had willingly come, with the notable exception of Severus Snape. Harry had found this curious, as he'd been sure Snape was still one of their number, but he'd been occupied with more pressing matters at the time.

He'd dueled Voldemort, and the twin cores had reacted in a glorious explosion of color. It was unthinkable, that he had not only survived the attempt, he'd escaped with Cedric's body, as well. The ghosts of his parents had been a thin wisp of protection from the dementors, at first, but their presence in his mind had waned quickly.

The Triwizard Cup had returned them to where they'd started, before the stands of waiting witches and wizards. It had been only short moments before the screaming began.

How Harry had stumbled to his feet and away from the transformed Quidditch pitch, he didn't know. He recalled that Professor Moody had moved toward him but was delayed by the thronging students. Harry had later learned that the man he knew as Alastor Moody was an imposter, a Dark wizard Polyjuiced to look like the famous Auror.

Harry had stopped when he reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, having no desire to enter those woods that night.

"Harry?" Ginny's tentative voice had spoken out of the dark – she had come for him, knowing instinctively that he didn't want to be alone.

Harry had turned around to face her, tears swimming in his eyes. "I don't understand. How did this happen? He's dead, Ginny. Cedric's dead, and Voldemort's back. Everything is going to change."

Stealthy movement behind her caught his eye. _No!_ His mind cried as Malfoy raised his wand, and suddenly everything that had plagued him throughout that long year, all the fear and uncertainty and hatred he had experienced that night, it all filled his skin and almost unthinkingly he had channeled it through his wand at the blonde wizard just as the familiar jet of deadly green light left Malfoy's. It missed Ginny by inches.

His had not.

He'd thought his heart had stopped. In a way it had, and he'd spent the last two years waiting for that next _thump_.

He had cursed Malfoy well and truly into the next century, stopped only when Aurors had taken him into custody. Voldemort had taken full advantage of the situation and sent Lucius Malfoy to modify the memories of his son so that when he had recovered enough to testify, he'd given a very convincing account under the influence of Veritaserum, telling the Wizengamot how Harry had exalted the Dark Lord's return and Diggory's death, attacked Ginny, and then turned on Draco, who had conveniently severed all ties with his Death Eater relatives.

Harry had not known it was possible to hurt so much. He had attributed it to his guilt, and to his friends' betrayal and their thorough repudiation of him, but there was another reason he was not aware of. There is a bond in the wizarding world, one that is found only rarely in the pages of history. It is a connection linking the hearts and souls of two magical people in the most intimate way.

It because of this that Harry felt so torn apart when he watched the young, redheaded witch crumple to the ground, because even though they were little more than children at the time, Harry Potter had found such a lifebond – with Ginny Weasley, his best friend's sister.

Remembering her death, Harry felt a fresh wave of pain burrow into his hollow being. He listened carefully, as he had listened for two years of torment and imprisonment, for the sound of a heartbeat, the sound of freedom, of forgiveness, of life itself… but as usual, he heard nothing.

* * *

Far away, across mountains and cities and the cold waters of the English Channel, a girl woke. She did not know what had awakened her, but had no intention of getting up before it was absolutely necessary. She closed warm, chocolate-brown eyes and laid her head down on a fluffy pillow, brushing the silky strands of her red hair out of her face before drifting back to sleep.

_Thump._

* * *

Please, please, please tell me you have ideas as to where this can go. I don't know, myself, so the more inspiration you can give me, the more likely it is that I will post again. But I do love this chapter.

Much love (for reviewers),

**Ribhinn**

Formerly known as

Shpadana Zizais


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